Upon a Lady's Fall Over a Stile, Gotten by Running From Her Love

My Heart held out, against your Face, and Eyes,
But cou'd no more, against your Breech, and Thighs,
Which they, both took, and wounded, by Surprize;
Who, till then, did (as 'twere,) in Ambush ly,
For my poor Life, at least, my Liberty;
So secret Enemies, more Mischief do,
The less still they, their Pow'r to do it, show,
And it less openly, they let us know;
By that Assassinate, in Ambuscade,
My Freedom, Peace, and Life, were soon betray'd;
My Conqu'ress so, you, like the Parthian were,
Running from me, but out of spight, not fear,
Showing me your surprizing, killing Reer;
Which me did wound, and took your Pris'ner then,
So that e'er since, your chain'd Slave have I been;
In Triumph led, where e'er you go or come,
A Follower of your Victorious Bum,
From it to know, my Life's, or Fortune's Doom;
Those cruel Murtherers, thy plercing Eyes.
So giv'n, to Killing, Frauds, and Robberies;
Whose pointed Rays, more than Love's sharpest Darts,
Have prov'd so dangerous to Eyes, and Hearts;
However yet, by my Eyes, ne'r were found,
To give it half so sure, or deep a Wound,
As that same charming Beauty did, (I find,)
Which, without Eyes, with Love, has made me blind;
And, which is more sure, (as you needs must own,)
Than your Face cou'd, without your Eyes, have done;
But its Complexion, like the driven Snow,
Has made me Blind, by looking on it too,
Till that its Brightness does my Darkness grow;
So that, as Love's blind, I shall now no more,
Grope for my Way to Bliss, as still before;
But out of Pride, as Love, shall have a mind,
To come now less before you, than behind;
Tho's I before, but for your Fore-Parts was,
Your Lover more, and for your lovely Face;
Which I'm contented now, your Mask shou'd hide,
Since you have shown us, your more Fair Back-side,
Which, tho' you think your Shame, I do your Pride;
Let not your Face then blush, your Breech was shown,
But, because all its Shame sure, was its own,
Whose Charms, Complexion, by it, are out-done;
So your Face, but disparag'd more, shou'd be,
That we, your more Alluring Breech, did see;
Since we saw your Breech, not to its Disgrace,
More to the Shame of your less tempting Face;
For your Face, (since we saw it,) will no more
Be thought so charming, taking, as before;
Then your Fall was not, (as you think,) your Shame,
Which more did raise our Passion, and your Fame,
By which, more your Admirers, we became;
So that your Breech, (since such a good One,) you
Did, to your Credit, not Dishonour show,
Which now makes thy charm'd Followers, but more
Than they were, for thy Face's sake, before;
Which me has made its Follower so close;
That it in Love, shall lead me by the Nose,
Which, the great Pow'r of its great Beauty shows,
Since I, who, to thy Fore-side, was so true,
Am brought o'er to thy Back-side, at a View,
And ne'r to t'other Side, will from it turn,
By which we Love may cool, not fear to burn,
May quench our Flame, yet neither weep, or mourn;
In fine, the Gods, who set their Breeches on
The Clouds, the Heav'ns, the Stars, the Sun, and Moon,
Have not more glorious Seats, their Bums to bless,
With everlasting Motion, for their Ease,
And their Eternal Bliss, or Happiness;
Upon whose Motions, more than those o'th' Stars,
The Planets, or all Heaven's Harmonious Spheres,
Depend my Life, and Death, good Days, good Nights,
Eternal Joys, and Moveable Delights;
Who curs'd, or bless'd, can only prove in Love,
As your Breech for me, does lie still, or move.